


Smoke Break

by coreopsis



Category: Bandom RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Bandslash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Bob quits smoking, he discovers the hot smoking guy from the next building over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Break

Bob had been at his new sound engineering job at Decaydance Records for two weeks, three days, and two hours when he happened to look out the window of the second floor break room. The view wasn't much to speak of, just an alleyway and the backs of the buildings on the next street over. And then a guy stepped out of the back door directly behind the studio. He was in the process of rolling up the sleeves of a white dress shirt, but other than that, he was dressed all in black--scuffed sneakers, pants, fitted vest, even his necktie was black with some tiny pattern that Bob couldn't make out from this distance. His hair was black as well, a stark contrast to his pale skin, and so tousled that it looked the guy had just rolled out of bed. He wore sunglasses so Bob couldn't see his eyes and, possibly for the first time ever, Bob was a little disappointed about that.

Bob shook his head at himself, grabbed a Red Bull from the refrigerator and drank it down while watching the guy pull a pack of Marlboro Lights out of his pocket and light one. Just watching the flame of the lighter touch the end of the cigarette made Bob crave one himself, but he was trying to quit. He thought about how easy it would be to nip downstairs and out the back door to bum a cigarette off the hot smoking guy. But before he could commit to the self-defeating move, Hot Smoking Guy stubbed out his cigarette and dropped the butt into a little trashcan by the door. Then he was gone and Bob was once again committed to quitting. He put the guy out of his mind and want back to work.

This continued on for a while. Bob would be in the break room to grab a drink or eat lunch and, without putting any conscious thought into it, he'd find himself standing by the window, looking out onto the alley below. Most of the time he'd see Hot Smoking Guy down there, smoking a cigarette and sometimes talking on his cellphone or drinking a cup of coffee. He didn't do anything particularly interesting, but Bob was fascinated nonetheless. The way Hot Smoking Guy talked with his hands even on the phone where his listener couldn't see him always made Bob smile, and made him wonder why Hot Smoking Guy was always alone. Just from Bob's observation, he seemed like a really personable kind of guy, the type that would grab a friend before going out for a smoke. Maybe none of his coworkers smoked, or maybe he didn't have any friends. Bob dismissed the latter option because there was no way this guy wouldn't have plenty of people to hang out with if he wanted to.

Bob went to the break room for a bottle of water on Wednesday, and looked out the window as always, but the alley was empty. Just as he was turning away, a movement caught his eye and he turned back to see Hot Smoking Guy stepping outside, slipping his sunglasses on with one hand while he lifted his pack to his mouth with the other. He pulled a cigarette out with his lips and left it there while he patted down his pockets. Bob was tempted to run downstairs and offer the lighter he still carried out of habit. But before he could do anything stupid--well, stupider that spying on some dude he didn't even know--the guy found his lighter tucked into the tiny pocket on the front of his vest.

Bob leaned against the window frame and watched the guy smoke his cigarette, imagining the pull of smoke into his lungs, the taste of it on his tongue, even the feel of the filter between his lips. He yearned for a smoke more than he desired anything else in the world right now. Bob was jerked from his incipient nicotine fit by the appearance of another guy.

The guy walking down the alley was a little taller than Hot Smoking Guy and leaner. He had short cropped hair framing his angular face and he looked like a model with his long legs encased in tight pants and ridiculous boots that went almost up to his knees and had at least three buckles up the sides. He walked straight up to Hot Smoking Guy, who broke out into the most beautiful smile Bob had ever seen, dropped his cigarette to the dirty pavement, and engulfed the new guy in a bear hug. When he finally pulled back about a hundred years later, he held onto Hot Model Guy's hand and beamed at him while talking a mile a minute and pulling him inside the building with him.

Well, _fuck_. At least Bob didn't have to watch them actually making out.

Bob avoided the break room for a couple days until Patrick started giving him weird looks every time he went out to the corner store for his Red Bull fix. Then it was the weekend and he didn't have to go to the studio. He also didn't have to think about Hot Smoking Guy and his hot model boyfriend.

He did anyway. Hot Smoking Guy's face was the last thing he thought of when he went to sleep at night and his mouth featured heavily in Bob's thoughts while he was jerking off in the shower. He tried to convince himself that Hot Smoking Guy wasn't really all that hot. Bob had only seen him from a distance, not close enough or often enough for his faults to make an impression. His hair probably wasn't soft and shiny, but stringy and greasy. He was probably all soft and pudgy under his clothes, and his legs were stubby and he probably smelled like an ashtray 24/7 and that was just gross to a nonsmoker like Bob (wanted to be). Yeah, he was probably not attractive at all.

By Monday, Bob just about had himself convinced that he'd dreamed up Hot Smoking Guy or at least vastly exaggerated his hotness in his memory. The morning flew by and he was too busy to think about anything but doing his job. Then the band that was recording their debut album had a bout of creative differences that led to the bassist and drummer coming to blows.

Bob pulled them apart, almost taking a sock to the jaw in the process, and Patrick was still yelling at them when Bob slipped out of the booth into the hallway. He leaned against the wall and tried to slow his heart rate down. Memories of way too many fights he'd had in his younger days came flooding back to him, making him much more agitated and unsettled than he normally would be after having to wrangle temperamental artists. The sound of footsteps jerked him out of his revery. Pete was coming toward him with an anticipatory grin on his face.

"I gotta see this. I love it when Patrick yells at other people," he explained, even though Bob didn't ask what he was doing there or how Pete already knew what was going on. He'd stopped wondering about such things pretty early on.

"Yeah. Well, I'm going out for a smoke. Call me when they need me again."

"Aw, Robert. We always need you. You are the glue that holds our dysfunctional little family together."

"If you try to hug me right now, I will end you. I don't give a shit that you're my boss." And with that, Bob made his escape as Pete laughed like a drunken donkey. Bob was already out the door when he remembered that he didn't have any cigarettes because he was quitting.

He did a quick check of his state of mind and the state of his nerves. He hated breaking up fights and damn it, he deserved a reward. He could always quit again tomorrow.

He walked down to the little convenience store on the corner. He took his place behind a man in a black leather jacket. It was only when the guy asked for Marlboro Lights that Bob actually looked at him. Of course, it was Hot Smoking Guy and Bob's memory hadn't exaggerated anything. He looked as good up close as he had from a distance. His skin was smooth and touchable, and his hair looked purposely designed for Bob's fingers to get tangled in. He did smell a bit like an ashtray--with the scent of leather and graphite layered over it--but in Bob's current mood that was only a plus.

When Hot Smoking Guy started to grab one of the cheap lighters on display next to the cash register, Bob found himself speaking up before he could stop himself. "Dude, those don't work for shit. Spring for a Bic."

Hot Smoking Guy turned and smiled at Bob. His eyes were green and gold and his teeth were small and even, and he was exactly as hot up close as he seemed from a distance. Bob seriously needed to get a grip. "Thanks for the advice," said Hot Smoking Guy, moving to grab a Bic lighter instead.

"I've gotten burned by those before," Bob said, while telling himself to shut the hell up. "Both literally and figuratively."

"We can't have that." Hot Smoking Guy looked up at Bob through his eyelashes and... was he flirting? With _Bob_? Bob did not understand how his life could be so weird. Really hot guys with really hot boyfriends did not flirt with him as a general rule.

Hot Smoking Guy looked like he might have said more, but the girl behind the counter cleared her throat and said, "Did you need anything else?"

"Oh, no, sorry," Hot Smoking Guy said, turning his back on Bob and digging some money out of the front pocket of his jeans, which pulled the worn black denim tight across his ass and Bob told himself not to look but he totally did anyway. On the one hand, he now had more material for the fantasies he kept having about Hot Smoking Guy. On the other, he was perving over someone he had no chance with whatsoever and that was just a little sad.

Hot Smoking Guy smiled at Bob as he took his cigarettes and lighter, then he glanced at his watch and said "Fuck, I'm so late" and then hurried out the door. Bob moved up to the counter and said, "Give me a pack of Parliament Lights--no, fuck it, give me two packs." He could always quit next week.

He smoked all the way back to the studio and enjoyed every throat-burning second of it even though he felt momentarily queasy when he was done. Before he went back to work, he went to the break room for a Red Bull. He stayed away from the window.

 

Bob tried to take his smoke breaks at times he hadn't seen Hot Smoking Guy taking his, but the dude was seriously unpredictable. Either that or he smoked three packs a day. Bob went out into the alley at 9:30 and barely had time to light up when Hot Smoking Guy appeared across the way, smoking, drinking from a huge Starbucks cup, and talking on his cell all at the same time. Bob watched him juggle cigarette, lighter, cup, and phone with well-practiced precision and couldn't help but be a bit impressed.

Bob finished his smoke and slipped back inside before Hot Smoking Guy noticed him. He didn't know if what he was feeling was relief or disappointment. He told himself to get a grip.

The next time was sometime in the afternoon and Hot Smoking Guy was already there when Bob stepped outside. He was deep in conversation with a short guy with a scorpion neck tattoo whom Bob had seen at the studio a couple times in meetings with Pete. He smoked his cigarette and watched the two men talking and the smiles they exchanged and wondered if Hot Smoking Guy actually did have sexual chemistry with every single person he came in contact with or if Bob was just imagining things.

They were so wrapped up in each other that they never noticed Bob watching them like a creeper. He went back inside thinking maybe it was time to quit smoking again, but the next day found him right outside doing the same thing again.

This time, Hot Smoking Guy glanced in his direction, did a slight double take, and then smiled. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but just then Joe poked his head out and called Bob back inside. Bob nodded at Hot Smoking Guy and ignored Joe's questions all the way back to reception.

"Oh hey, Bob, we got the masters for the new Panic record, so you can start mixing that this afternoon," Patrick said, before picking up the phone.

"Wait, I still want to know what's going on with the artist in the next building," Joe said, in a dogged tone that let Bob know that no amount of ignoring was going to make Joe drop it.

"Nothing," Bob said, as if it was true. It sort of was, after all. It's not like he even knew the guy's name and he'd had no idea what he did until now. There was nothing going on except Bob watching him and occasionally having vivid sexual fantasies, and there was nothing wrong with that. Or at least nothing legally actionable.

"What artist?" Patrick asked, putting down the phone as if he'd forgotten he'd wanted to make a call.

"You know, Frank's friend. What's his name?" Joe snapped his fingers and gestured at Patrick to fill in the blanks. Bob thought maybe Joe should stop smoking so much pot since it was clearly affecting his memory or his thought processes or some shit. "The Umbrella Academy guy."

"Gerard?" Patrick looked from Joe to Bob curiously. "What about him?"

"Nothing," Bob said again, a little more insistently.

"He was looking at you like he knows you," Joe said, poking at Bob's arm. "And you were staring at him and drooling a little."

Biting back the instinctive "was not" that sprang to his lips, Bob tried to remind himself why it was bad to kill his coworkers. He suspected he'd not fare well in prison, so he clenched his hands into fists but kept them at his sides.

"Really?" And now Patrick was looking interested too, and Bob really did not know who he'd pissed off in a former life to be so terribly mistreated in this one.

"No, not really. Joe is imagining things," Bob said.

"I don't think so, dude," Joe said, skepticism written all over his face.

"So, the Panic masters are here?" Bob asked Patrick with more enthusiasm than usual. "I'll just get right on that then."

He made his escape and hoped that Joe and Patrick would get struck with a random case of amnesia and forget the whole conversation ever happened.

Bob threw himself into mixing the best damn Panic! at the Disco record ever and absolutely, positively did not think about Hot Smoking Guy--_Gerard_\-- every minute of the day. He didn't smoke a cigarette for twenty-six hours and fifteen minutes, and then he snapped at Patrick for the fourth time in half as many hours, over some comment that was probably much too innocent and innocuous to have pissed Bob off like it did.

"Okay, fuck it. I don't give a shit about your lungs. Go smoke a cigarette or hit on Gerard or whatever you have to do to be more civil," Patrick said in that teeth clenching way that meant he'd totally punch Bob in the face if he wasn't so busy being a calm, rational adult.

"Patrick," Bob started apologetically, "I'm s--"

"I don't fucking want to hear it. Go take a break. Be somewhere else for at least fifteen minutes." Patrick walked calmly out of the room and Pete gave Bob a dirty grin and a thumbs up and hurried after Patrick. Bob was afraid he knew what was coming next for those two, and fifteen minutes would probably not be enough time at all.

Taking a deep breath, Bob walked out to the lobby and told Joe to text him when Patrick finally emerged from Pete's office. Then he grabbed his hoodie and walked down the street to the coffee place that had outdoor tables in the back and actually allowed the customers to smoke. He got a cup of coffee and found a seat at the edge of the patio far away from other people and lit up.

He was feeling much better by the time Hot Smoking Guy showed up and pulled out the chair across from Bob and sat down. "Hi. Do you mind if I join you?" He made a vague motion behind him and added, "All the other tables have, like, people nearby."

"I'm not people?" Bob asked and took a drag off his cigarette. He hoped that he was projecting calm and cool, even though his stomach was twisting up into a tight knot of disbelief and nervousness.

"Yeah, of course you are, yeah." Hot Smoking Guy leaned forward and touched Bob's wrist lightly before jerking his hand back to his side of the table. The awkwardness of the gesture made Bob relax a little. "But you're a smoking person, so I figured you wouldn't give me dirty looks for lighting up."

"Nope, no dirty looks over here," Bob agreed and slid his lighter across the table when Hot Smoking Guy started patting down his pockets as if looking for his.

"Thanks. I'm Gerard." He stuck out his right hand while lighting his cigarette with his left. "I've seen you around."

"Bob," Bob said and shook Gerard's hand, trying not linger over his warm, surprisingly soft skin for longer than was polite. He shoved away thoughts of Gerard's hands on his skin, absolutely did not wonder if the rest of Gerard's body was as warm and inviting. "I work over at Decaydance. Sound engineer."

"Oh, yeah? Cool. I'm going to be doing some work for them soon." Gerard took his hand back and didn't seem to notice that Bob was totally perving over it. "My passion is comics, but sometimes I do other stuff to pay the bills."

Bob wondered what all "stuff" entailed and whether he could afford to hire Gerard to do "stuff" to/for/with him. He mentally smacked himself and dragged his mind back out of the gutter. Taking a sip of his coffee, he said, "Oh, like what?"

"Graphic design--that's what I'll be doing for Pete, designing some album covers and posters. I do the occasional painting on commission. You know, the usual." Gerard shrugged and Bob didn't really know because he'd never known any artists. Before he could formulate a question or comment to keep the conversation going, Gerard went on, "But as I said, comics are my real passion. The ones I write and the ones I publish. Comics saved my life when I was younger, and I really do think they can save other kids. Show them they are not alone and it's okay to be weird or different or queer or whatever."

"Really?" Bob asked, focusing on the little skull and crossbones pattern on Gerard's tie. "That sounds pretty cool."

"Oh, it totally is! One of my friends writes this totally rad comic about gay superheroes in the vein of Justice League or X-Men but, you know, with more tolerance and good role models for LGBT kids." Gerard watched Bob carefully as he blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. "I'll get you some copies if you're interested."

"Yeah, that'd be great," Bob said, wondering if an indie publisher should really be giving away his product. No wonder Gerard had to do other work to stay in business. But the thought died away when Gerard suddenly smiled as if Bob had given him a puppy or--more likely-- exactly _the right answer_. But there was still the Hot Model Boyfriend to contend with so Bob didn't think this was Gerard's extremely geeky way of coming on to him. He was probably just really excited about comics.

Bob's phone buzzed to let him know he had a new text and he checked to see that it was from Joe: _come back to the nest baby bird. patrick is really really relaxed now. really!_

Bob shook his head and hoped Joe wasn't getting high on company time again. He looked up to see Gerard watching him with a crooked little smile. "The crisis is over, so I have to go back to work now."

"Oh. I can bring the comics by tomorrow," Gerard said, fiddling with his coffee cup, his cigarette pack, and Bob's lighter in quick succession. "Maybe we could go for coffee again?"

"Yeah, sure," said Bob, thinking that trying to be just friends with Gerard while desperately wanting to lick him all over was going to be a level of hell that Bob had never before experienced.

"I'd walk back with you, but I have a meeting that I'm supposed to be at in--" Gerard checked his watch and winced. "Whoops, five minutes ago. Well, flaky artist. What can they expect, right?"

"Yeah, work that stereotype to your advantage." Bob laughed along with Gerard and got to his feet.

He was about to walk away when Gerard said, "Wait, your lighter." And instead of just handing it to him, he pushed it into Bob's pants pocket, his fingers pressing lightly into Bob's hip dangerously close to his crotch.

"Thanks," Bob said, hoping he didn't sound as choked as he felt. Gerard's fingers fell away and then he turned and walked away with a jaunty wave over his shoulder.

 

Bob walked into the studio to find Hot Model Boyfriend leaning against the reception desk, smiling at something Joe was saying. When he noticed Bob, he straightened and looked at him intently.

"Bob, hey, have you met Mikey?" Joe asked, waving Bob closer. "This is Mikey Way. He does A&amp;R for Eyeball."

"Hey," Bob said, taking the hand Mikey held out. He was surprised by the intensity of Mikey's grip since the guy didn't look very strong or like the type to want to crush a guy's hand to prove his masculinity. "Bob Bryar. Nice to meet you."

Mikey pulled his hand away and seemed to be sizing up Bob for a moment before saying, "What's this I hear about you stalking my brother?"

"What? No! I don't even know your brother," Bob said, wondering what the hell he'd gotten into this time and whether he could blame Pete for it in some way. That usually worked out well for him.

"Oh? Guess I got some faulty information," Mikey said, shooting a look in Joe's direction.

Joe took this as his cue to stick his nose in and said helpfully, "Mikey's brother is Gerard. You know, the artist from the next building over."

"You're Gerard's _brother_? Oh, thank fuck," Bob said, biting at his lip ring to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"Yeah. Not the reaction I usually get to that news," Mikey said dryly.

"I thought you were his boyfriend." Bob shrugged as if it was no big deal and hoped to hell he wasn't blushing. "So, if you're not, that means...oh." Bob decided to stop talking because he just realized that Gerard had asked him out to coffee. Possibly--probably!--as a date. The kind of date that could be a stepping stone to dates with dinner and drinks and, if Bob was stupendously lucky, sex.

Bob was saved from more embarrassment by the arrival of Pete and Patrick. Pete immediately draped himself over Mikey and said, "Mikeyway, just the man I was looking for."

"Yeah, because we had an appointment for--" Mikey made a point of checking his watch. "Oh, look at that, ten minutes ago."

Pete smiled smugly and said, "Sorry, got unavoidably detained. Come on back to my office and let's get down to business."

Patrick's face was a little pink as he watched them go, then he nodded at Bob. "Yeah, we should get back to work now too."

"You." Bob pointed at Joe. "You shut up."

"What'd I say?" Joe said, all big-eyed fake innocence.

"For fuck's sake, Joe. Do not talk about me to Gerard's brother. Or anybody else." Bob stared down Joe until Patrick started making impatient noises. "I mean it."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Joe said, reaching for the ringing phone and becoming professional in the blink of an eye. "Thank you for calling Decaydance Records, how may I help you?"

 

Bob barely had time to sneak out for a couple really quick smoke breaks the next day and he didn't see Gerard either time. It was understandable since it would have been a random occurrence anyway, but it was still disappointing. They sort of knew each other now. Bob could walk across the alley and smoke standing next to Gerard instead of lurking in a doorway twenty feet away.

Each time when he came back in, he stopped by reception and asked Joe if anyone had left anything for him. And each time Joe said no and Bob went back to work, disappointed and wondering if Gerard had forgotten about him.

By 6:30, Patrick was rubbing his temples like he had a headache and Bob was just about to jitter out of his skin, and finally Pete took one look at both of them and made an executive decision. "Okay, I think it's time to call it a day."

Bob was usually glad to keep going until the job was done, but tonight he nearly knocked Pete over in his haste to get out. He already had his cigarettes out of his pocket and clutched in his hand by the time he got to the lobby.

He stopped short when he saw Gerard standing near the front doors clutching a manila envelope at least an inch thick to his chest. As soon as Gerard noticed him, he broke out into a brilliant grin. "Bob! I'm so glad I caught you."

"Hey, Gerard." Bob could feel an answering smile tugging at his own lips and was amazed that the need for a cigarette was a lot less dire than it had been just a moment before. He nodded at the envelope and asked, "Is that the comics?"

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't get over here earlier. I spent most of the day putting out one fire after another, and finally I just said fuck it, anything else can wait until tomorrow, I have to see Bob now." Gerard ducked his head slightly and ran his hand through his hair, giving it that just-rolled-out-of-bed look he'd had the first time Bob saw him.

"It's okay. I've been really busy myself," Bob said casually, as if he hadn't thought about Gerard eight hundred times today. Gerard's desire to see him gave Bob a shot of confidence, so he walked closer to the door and said, "If you don't have other plans, we could go get something to eat or something."

"No, I'm free. That'd be great." Gerard smiled and nodded at the cigarette pack clutched in Bob's hand. "Did you want to have a smoke first?"

"Nah, I'm good." Bob stuck the pack back in his jacket pocket and walked outside, holding the door open for Gerard. "Want to go to that diner a couple blocks over?"

"Sure," Gerard said and reached out to take Bob's hand, curling his fingers around Bob's palm and just holding on as they walked down the street.

Bob had not held hands in public that much--or really ever--but he found himself not caring. They happened to be in a part of town where two dudes holding hands on the street didn't cause much comment, and Gerard looked so happy that Bob couldn't bring himself to pull back and make that smile go away. Instead he stroked his fingers across the back of Gerard's hand and gave it a squeeze, thinking that he was glad he hadn't been able to quit smoking just yet.

Maybe next week he'd try again.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Written especially for the Multi-Fandom Advent Calendar on lj. Many thanks to Sperrywink for the awesome beta, and to Saba for doing such a fabulous job with mfac every year.


End file.
